I
am
a rock
of ages
I am that I am
In the beginning was the Word
As it were the Word was with God, and the Word was God
I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me
He saw her clear and true
But went headlong into the rain
Showing out his acquired skill
Against all the elements of leveled pain
She held her baby with special needs
As TRUTH held innocence in her gaze
Mama instructed TRUTH how to behave
In order to make the journey through the maze
He fell upon the cement boundary
Angered, enraged that he'd been seen
He ran after the one who stood in TRUTH
Grabbing and pushing the growing knead
She sat alone, in privacy
Letting out her treasured blessing
She sensed TRUTH in the silence
And laid hold of her left arm for the sins that needed confessing
He peered at her in terror
As he pulled against the chain around his neck
The fear consumed him like fire
Choking him in sorrow and regret
Sitting in a crowd of searchers
Desiring to know what they can't perceive
Fighting against the TRUTH they can NOT bake
In fury, they get up to leave
...LOVE
Written by Trudy Schrader on 12-08-2022
life kneads
patience
co-operation
friendship
sharing
love
stan sand
Love that's gathered in heart's glow
the season comes upon
scarlet smiles - attachments pure
encircling life most golden
where in spirit shadows fade
only brilliance seen
round the table - nourishment
substance feeding all
canning love's great fortitude
to store for yonder's need
helpings drive the loosening of
soul's tender belts to sigh
I remember Grandma's kitchen
When I was a newlywed.
To learn to cook was important
But not as important as what was said.
As she kneaded bread on the counter,
Teaching me how to cook,
I learned so many important things
That didn't come from a book.
Side by side we would stand
Kneading bread as we chatted on.
We talked of life and love
And how sometimes things went wrong.
I was blessed to have a Grandma
Who was always there for me.
I still get teary-eyed
When in my memory I see
The two of us, side by side
In a kitchen, so very small,
Whether baking pies or kneading bread
Or not even cooking at all.
It's evening
I'm inside the bathroom
looking into the mirror
opening up my head
taking out my brain like a washrag
The light flows in from down the hallway
bending into the mirror's depths
displaying my melancholy face
the faded surroundings that all seem gray
Wringing out my brain over the sink
draining all of my emotions and thoughts
swirling down the white ceramic sink
all my monstrous desires
I apply strawberry-colored soap to my brain
kneading it deep into my brain
trying to wash out the blood, the filth, the dull textures
the voices that repeat inside of my head
the torment of my present
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